


Fire Meet Gasoline

by spockandawe



Series: Like The Morning Sun [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, Fingerfucking, First Time, Multi, Pale-Red Vacillation, Politics, Robot Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: Once you've taken care of everything urgent, the only thing left is for Metroplex to run a slow diagnostic that won’t be ready for you to review for at least a cycle, so all your attention is on your work. You’re so absorbed in it that you completely miss the surveillance alerts that someone’s on their way up to Metroplex’s control room. It would have caught your optics if anyone was coming in by air, but you almost miss the sound of footsteps, and barely notice in time to shove your half-finished project into a drawer before Starscream walks into the room.Your spark flares hot in your chest.He looks you up and down. “Not too terribly busy, I hope.”Your hands are too empty. You don’t even have a datapad on the desk in front of you. So you lean deliberately back in your seat, spreading your arms wide, drawing even more attention to just how empty your hands are. “Restoring a Titan this damaged is a monumental undertaking. I’d be happy to discuss the details of my work with you at any time, of course.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/153835461466/fire-meet-gasoline-spockandawe-the)

In some ways, you appreciate the quiet, solitary days you have to spend alone with Metroplex. Being in the city is nice, of course, and there’s so much you can _do_ out there, or in the government, or with the colonies—But that’s just the problem, isn’t it. You can’t slow down at all, can’t take any time for yourself, because there’s always something else you could be doing. When you sit with Metroplex, running diagnostics or monitoring his output, you have peace and quiet, and you have space to think.

And you have the time to do something that’s for _you_ instead of for other people.

Your reasons are a bit silly—If you teach yourself to do this at home, Chromia will tease you for picking up _another_ hobby when you don’t have time for the hobbies you already have. So you’ll just show her once you’re already good at it. Besides, this hobby is interesting and different and you want to be sure it’s really _yours_ before anyone else sees what you’re making.

You haven’t had a chance to learn much about humans, you’re still too busy catching up on Cybertron. But you and Jazz still send each other messages sometimes. You tell him what’s going on in the city—you think he misses home—and he sends you pictures of anything he thinks you’ll find interesting. And when you saw that humans knew how to make little sculptures out of, ah—folded… plant pulp? You’re still not sure what they’re made of, but you knew you _needed_ to learn it.

It took some experimenting, and you’re _definitely_ not hunting down plant pulp, but you’ve figured out that you can make it work with thin sheets of metal. You’ve spent the last few days you had with Metroplex learning to follow the human patterns you’ve begged off Jazz. Now, you’re working on improvising. It’s harder than it looks, and any mistakes in your folding will show in the final product—Unless you paint them after the fact? But that seems like it will introduce its own difficulties. Hm.

But as it is, your desk is stuffed full of little folded sculptures, and even if you only keep your favorites, they won’t really all fit in your apartment. Maybe you’ll leave them in Maccadam’s for people to take home. There’s nothing _pretty_ on Cybertron, you’ve realized, nothing that’s there just for the _art_ of it. It’s such a little thing, but it’s one of the details that makes Cybertron the most alien to you.

Metroplex is running a slow diagnostic that won’t be ready for you to review for at least a cycle, so all your attention is on your work. You’re so absorbed in it that you completely miss the surveillance alerts that someone’s on their way up to Metroplex’s control room. It would have caught your optics if anyone was coming in by air, but you almost miss the sound of footsteps, and barely notice in time to shove your half-finished sculpture into a drawer before Starscream walks into the room.

Your spark flares hot in your chest.

He looks you up and down. “Not too terribly busy, I hope.”

Your hands are too empty. You don’t even have a datapad on the desk in front of you. So you lean deliberately back in your seat, spreading your arms wide, drawing even more attention to just how empty your hands are. “Restoring a Titan this damaged is a monumental undertaking. I’d be happy to discuss the details of my work with you at any time, of course.”

For a moment you think he’s about to take you up on the challenge. Do it. _Do it._ But then he only says, “If the scope of the work is too much, I’m sure it would be no trouble to invite a few _experts_ over from Caminus to assist you.”

You stiffen at the insult, but then have to fight back the urge to _grin_. He’s doing this on purpose. He does know, he _must_ know, the two of you are on the same page after all — “A gracious offer. But I am afraid that at this point I seem to be our colony’s foremost expert on physical Titan trauma.” You look away from Starscream, carefully careless, over to Metroplex’s consoles. “We’ve never allowed Caminus to become so terribly damaged. No other cityspeaker on the planet has ever encountered a… _situation_ like this before.” From the corner of your optic, you see Starscream’s fist clench. You turn back to him with a cloying, sympathetic smile. “It would take lunar cycles to bring them up to speed. But if you’d prefer I take time away from the repair work to teach them—?”

It would turn into a shouting match if you’d let it. But it feels so good to stay there in your seat, keeping your face calm and smooth as he looms over you, doing a poor job of hiding his frustration as he tells you why it’s so important to have _this_ functionality returned, or _that_ functionality improved, as soon as possible—You nod sympathetically and lounge back in your chair, crossing one leg across the other.

Starscream realizes soon enough what you’re doing. _Good_. You’re not trying to be subtle here. But just when you think that this is it, that you _have_ him—Well. You don’t. He’s close to giving in, he’s so close. But then you can see him take a step back. You can see him pull himself back under control. He says something snide about how it’s good you have so much to keep you occupied… and he leaves.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re halfway to your feet, your hand braced on the desk, and the only thing you want is to go chasing after him, make him admit he _knows_ what this is, that he _knows_ what he’s doing—But if you do that, he wins. _No._ When you had him so worked up, how was he the one that left you stewing in frustration?

You force yourself to sit back down. You get out your little sculpture again, but you don’t remember what you’d been doing with it, and you sit there for kliks without managing to make a single fold before you have to give up and put it away again. Instead, you drag out a datapad and bring up your list of jobs that need to get done. It’s depressingly long. And it feels like you’re adding to it every day. But you find the items Starscream was pushing you to work on and move them as far as you can up the priority list.

By then, Metroplex is starting to compile the diagnostic output you’re after. You set up a datapad to download the results, and as you watch the information scroll by, you’re free to sulk.

WB: He did it again  
CH: did what?  
WB: What do you think??  
WB: I thought for a moment that this was it  
WB: But no  
CH: look.  
CH: have you considered.  
CH: maybe he is really, genuinely, just that stupid.  
WB: He’s not STUPID  
WB: He’s just an idiot  
WB: Just  
WB: You’ve seen us together, right??  
CH: that i have.  
WB: I’m not reading this wrong?  
CH: i wouldn’t think so.  
CH: it seems pretty clear-cut to me.  
WB: That’s what I thought  
WB: Just  
CH: i know.  
CH: i’d assume that if he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be in that situation.  
WB: I suppose  
CH: come on, don’t be like that.  
CH: i bet that’s exactly how he’s trying to get to you.  
WB: Oh!  
CH: what is it?  
WB: You remember how I wanted to get a repair crew down into Metroplex’s filtration system  
WB: And he wouldn’t agree that this repair would be worth the time and materials it would take  
CH: i do seem to remember hearing something about this.  
CH: for a cycle or five.  
CH: an entire evening i’ll never get back.  
WB: And first he argued about it for a whole day, and then framed it like *I* was being the unreasonable one, and that he eventually had to agree just to get me to calm down  
CH: reel it in.  
CH: i don’t need any convincing, promise.  
WB: Guess what results I just got  
CH: let me guess.  
CH: starscream was right all along.  
CH: haha, never mind, i can’t say that and keep a straight face.  
CH: they’re good?  
WB: Very good  
WB: Even better than I’d hoped  
WB: I need to go  
WB: I think I have a new meeting to attend

You don’t go running off to rub this in Starscream’s face right away, even though you’ve never wanted anything more than that in your entire life. You take the time to sit down and set a few of the repairs he particularly wanted in motion, just so if he asks about them, you can rub _that_ in his face too. You get a few crews assigned to start on bulking up the sanitation systems—which is fair, you don’t think anyone has worked on them at all since you came to the planet. And you talk to Metroplex, patiently telling him what parts of the city are having the most frequent blackouts, which sectors he needs to focus on for self-repair. It’s always slow trying to communicate these things to him, but you think he catches some hints of your impatience, because his lack of comprehension takes on a teasing tone, before he finally agrees to work on repairing those sectors.

And then you’re in the air, looping over the city towards— _hopefully_ towards Starscream. You don’t actually know where he is at the moment, and you would rather do anything than ask him yourself.

WB: Wheeljack, where is Starscream right now?  
WJ: office  
WJ: least thats where he was three kliks ago  
WJ: something wrong?  
WB: No, not at all  
WB: I just have some reports from Metroplex that I’m very interested in showing him  
WJ: haha well  
WJ: sorry ill be missing the fireworks show  
WJ: play nice now

That’s—good that he won’t be there. You want to show Wheeljack these results too, because he’ll be just as excited as you are, and _he_ won’t be hiding it behind a passive-aggressive front. Unlike some people you could mention. And he works so hard, he’s always working so hard, you want to be able to show him that it’s _getting_ you somewhere. But that can come later. If this meeting goes the way you hope, an audience isn’t exactly what you’re after.

It’s a short flight. As tempting as it is to go crashing right through Starscream’s window, when you reach the council building, you transform to your feet and walk through the halls, up to his office. You nod hello to Rattrap as you pass him, and to the Velocitronian delegates, walking the other way. Your spark is flaring under your plating as you climb the stairs to Starscream’s door.

You go right on in without knocking, and don’t even bother trying to hide how smug your smile is as you toss the datapad onto Starscream’s desk. He picks it up, and he hesitates, his optics on you and his expression wary, before he looks down to read it.

“The recent filtration repairs have given us more than a thirty percent improvement in fuel consumption efficiency,” you tell him. Thirty-one point eight percent. He fought you the whole way, and you got _thirty-one point eight percent._ You walk around his desk, behind his chair, watching the way he’s holding his wings carefully still.

“It could have been the repairs I ordered to the tank supply pumps—”

“Those gave us a one point three percent improvement. I have the reports.” You sit back against the desk, right next to his arm. You’re still smiling, but you ignore him, looking down, examining the plating of your hand as if it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. “And by ‘filtration repairs,’ of course I mean removing your mine from his system—”

You don’t even see him move, he’s just _there_ , right against you, heavy, _angry_ , and everything you could have hoped for. He starts to grab your arms, hesitates, reaches for your waist, hesitates again—It’s only a nanoklik, but it’s enough time for you to grab him by the wings and drag him down against you. He catches on fast enough, his mouth is on yours and one of his arms wraps tight around your back.

Starscream starts to bear down harder against you, and your wing hits a pile of datapads, sending them flying. And you’re not planning to let him have this all his way. He outmasses you, but you kick off against the desk, shove, and manage to twist around enough to get yourself back onto the open floor. Your teeth hit his, but neither of you pauses for a moment. You can’t stop kissing him, but you let your hands slide down from his wings, over his shoulders and along his collar. When you get your hands on his neck and squeeze—just like before, _remember?_ —his arm goes even tighter around you. His fingers dig into your back and he bites hard at your lip.

You’re all smugness, you’re _pure satisfaction_ , this is everything you thought it was, and you’re getting exactly what you want. And you certainly don’t plan to let go of him anytime soon, you’re only just getting started. But when he takes his arm from around your back and pulls away, you let him. Your hands drift over his shoulders as he steps back, until finally they drop away and fall to rest at your sides. You can hear your fans running embarrassingly loud, but you can hear his too, and that’s what really counts.

He just looks at you silently. You can’t look away from his mouth. You can’t help shifting your weight forward, waiting for him to step up to you again, even though you know he must be able to see it. Your arms twitch, waiting for him to close that distance again. But after a long moment, he slowly, deliberately, turns his back on you and steps across the room. The pulse of _anger_ through your spark leaves your mouth hanging open. Your hands flex, and you start to go after him before you force yourself to be still.

When you can think past the insult, your first thought is that he’s _leaving—_ But no, he just walks to a, a door. The door to his _quarters_ , your processor helpfully chimes in.

And by then he has the door open, and he looks back over his shoulder at you. His optics go down your frame, then back up again. You’re still frozen motionless. When his optics lock with yours, he says, “Not coming?”

You jolt into motion, even though your plating burns because he’ll be able to see you’re too eager, because you’re letting him tell you what to do—And you don’t _care_. You waited for this for so long, and now it’s finally happening, you’re not going to talk yourself out of taking exactly what he’s offering.

You’re right with him as the door closes behind you, and the two of you make it— _most_ of the way to his berth chamber before you get distracted. It’s your fault. It’s utterly beneath you, but you’re giddy with how much you _want_ this, and he’s still got his back to you like he isn’t just as excited about this as you are—and you step hard on the back of his heel.

He turns on you with a snarl, and you just can’t help _laughing_ as he tries to bring his weight to bear. But this time, you just... let yourself drop, and maybe this would have turned out more dignified if you were doing it anywhere else. But your wing catches against the door frame, he stumbles over your legs, and the two of you end up in a messy pile on the floor, barely inside his berth chamber. And Starscream is exactly as heavy as he looks.

You still manage to wriggle out from underneath him before he can pin you. And it’s all a mess, _such_ a mess. Because his mouth is right there, so you _have_ to kiss it—But he’s also trying to wrestle you down, which might work better if he could stop trying to feel up your wings, though you cant really talk because you keep getting distracted from the fight by all the seams in his plating where you can dig your hands in and make him shiver. There are arms and legs and wings everywhere, and you don’t think either of you knows exactly what you’re trying to do.

You win because you figure out how sensitive his vents are. You get your fingers into him as deep as you can, and while he’s shuddering, you manage to climb up onto him and kneel on his wings. You sit back to take a good look at him pinned there underneath you and admire the view. You _win._

But that’s when it all goes wrong.

You bend down to kiss Starscream again, and—he _responds_ , he’s kissing you back, and his vents are still blowing hot air against you. But something is different and you don’t know what it is. The kiss lasts until finally you can’t take it anymore, and you pull away. When you get another look at his face, you can’t read his expression. You’re—lost. And you’ve, you’ve never exactly done this before. But this doesn’t seem right, all the heat and excitement is gone and you’re left here sitting awkwardly across his waist and you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what you want anymore. You don’t want whatever _this_ is. You need to _go_.

You lean forward to brace yourself against his shoulders, and you’re only trying to balance against them to stand up. But you realize how your knees are digging into Starscream’s wings when you see him wince. You jerk back, and you’re opening your mouth to try to apologize, _something_ , but you don’t even have the chance to say a single word before he surges up under you, and then—you don’t even know what happens, you feel his foot in your stomach, and he sends you flying, but it all happens so _fast_ , and you’re still reeling from everything else, and—

He’s looming over you now, and for one awful moment you think you’ve been reading this wrong, and he’s going to kill you. But he just stands there, not moving. You still can’t read his expression and it’s—You don’t want to look at his face, you don’t want to meet his optics, but you can’t look away. It would be easier if he looked angry. You don’t know what just _happened_ , but you’re fairly sure it’s your fault, and anger would be easier to understand than this, this _blankness_. When you finally force yourself to drop your optics, you can see the gouges your knees left in his wings. You do look away from those.

The silence is terrible. You feel like you ought to apologize, but you don’t know what _for_. You’d even get up and, and just leave, but he’s between you and the door.

Finally, he says, “See yourself out.”

Then he turns on his heel, and he’s gone.

You just— sit there for a klik. You still don’t know what happened. You don’t know what you _did_. Eventually, you drag yourself to your feet. You don’t want to move right now, don’t want to _anything_ , but it feels even more wrong to stay here. You can’t imagine that Starscream wants you in his quarters right now. Still, this is now probably the only chance you’ll ever be allowed in here, and you can’t resist taking just one quick look around.

And... you don’t know why you bothered. The room is just as bare as the rest of Cybertron. Empty metal walls and plain, unadorned furniture. You miss Caminus so much it hurts.

No, that’s not quite right. You almost miss it, but there’s a table against the far wall with one single tiny decoration sitting on it. A model plane, you think? You’re halfway across the room before you can think better of it, and pause to look guiltily back over your shoulder, as if Starscream is going burst back in to catch you going through his things. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you take the last few steps to the table and pick up the little model to examine it.

It is a plane, and the frame doesn’t _quite_ match—But this almost has to be Starscream, doesn’t it? There’s more white than he has now, but it’s the same red he loves so much, and you can see how he could go from this frame to the one he has these days. You turn the model over in your hands to look at all the detail. It’s cast metal, which is more effort than you would have expected for a custom model. It must have been expensive. You had no idea anyone in the city was doing work like this. If you can just figure out who made it, you’ll have to commission one as a present for Chromia.

And now that you’re looking at it more closely, you can see all the damage. It’s been—you can’t call it _expertly_ repaired. But you’re reluctant to call it an amateur job either, especially since you have a feeling that it must have been Starscream who patched it up, and you can see exactly how much care went into fixing it. One of the wings looks like it snapped off entirely, and you can only just see the seam, but you can tell that the epoxy and the join have been filed down to be as smooth as possible. The other wing has a corner that just barely doesn’t match the rest of it, and when you prod carefully at the spot, it feels like some kind of polymer instead of metal. If you know what to look for, there are signs of repair all over the little jet.

You put the model down as gently as you can, turn, and leave. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t have come—But Starscream was the one who invited you in, wasn’t he? Yes, until you ruined things, and you still don’t even know how that happened, what went wrong, any of it—

WB: Wheeljack, can I come talk to you?  
WJ: yeah uh  
WJ: sorry  
WJ: im a little tied up at the moment  
WB: Do you know when you’ll be free?  
WJ: no clue  
WJ: sorry bout that

You could go down to your apartment. It’s right here in this building, down in a wing with the other colonial envoys. It’ll be quiet. You’ll be alone. But you can’t stay here, you need to _go_.

WB: Chromia?  
CH: hey there.  
CH: any luck?  
WB: Yes  
WB: No  
WB: At first?  
WB: Something went wrong  
WB: I don’t know what happened  
CH: he’s been difficult for a while now.  
CH: relax.  
CH: no need to beat yourself up over it.  
WB: No  
WB: I did something  
WB: I don’t know what it was, but it was me  
WB: I don’t know  
CH: hey.  
CH: hey now.  
CH: be calm.  
CH: i’m on duty right now.  
CH: but when i get back in, do you want a hardline?  
CH: we can go over it together.  
WB: I  
WB: No, I don’t think that’s right  
WB: I don’t think I should be showing other people this  
WB: Sorry, I just  
CH: shhh.  
CH: you’re okay.  
WB: I’m going to go back to Metroplex  
CH: do you want me to come there when i’m done?  
WB: I don’t think so  
WB: I need space  
WB: I’m sorry  
CH: sure thing.  
CH: and no sorries, you’re fine.  
CH: but listen.  
CH: if you think of anything you need.  
CH: just comm me.  
CH: i’ll be there as soon as i can.  
CH: okay?  
WB: I will  
WB: Thank you

The sun is beginning to set by the time you get out of the council building. The flight back to Metroplex is too short to give you the time to clear your head. When you touch down, first you begin to go for your folded sculptures. And get hit with a wave of guilt, because there’s so much that _needs to be done_ , and you’re wasting your time with this nonsense instead. So you get your datapad with the list of all the outstanding issues —and there’s nothing that you can do now, or by yourself. Most of the list needs you to collaborate with the work crews (all occupied), Wheeljack (busy), or Starscream _(no)_. Metroplex is working on the self-repair you requested. You can’t do anything more until he starts returning results. Which won’t happen for at least a day and a half, probably longer. So there isn’t anything for you to do but go back to your folded sculptures. But you do get to feel intensely guilty over it, which is just... wonderful.

First you ruin the sculpture you’d been working on when Starscream dropped by. Then you look for the hardest pattern in the files Jazz sent you, and ruin that three times in a row. By the fourth time through, you’re concentrating so hard on the folds that someone could probably set off a bomb in here and you’d never notice. You still make a mistake you can’t recover from, but when you crumple up the metal and set it aside, you feel like you can _think_ again.

WB: Wheeljack, can you comm me when you’re free?

No reply. He’s busy. He _told_ you he was busy. And whatever he’s working on is more important than listening to you whine. But if there’s anyone on the planet who might maybe, _possibly,_ be able to tell you anything about what Starscream could be thinking—

WJ: think im gonna be tied up for the rest of the night  
WJ: sorry  
WB: No, it’s no problem  
WB: Forget I said anything

This is stupid. _You’re_ stupid. Just because Wheeljack is the one person on the planet that Starscream seems to like doesn’t mean he’ll be able to magically divine what you did wrong. It isn’t like you can even tell him exactly what happened without going into territory that’s too— that you don’t think you should share without permission.

You don’t have anything to do but go back to your folded sculptures. And to feel bad about it. You tell yourself that you’re staying on hand in case Metroplex runs into any problems, but that’s only an excuse. Something as mundane as these repairs doesn’t need your constant attention. You go back to the patterns Jazz has sent, and just begin mechanically working your way through all the ones you haven’t finished yet.

After some time, with your mind on the craft and your processor running quietly in the background, you begin to convince yourself that perhaps you _may_ not be literally the worst person ever forged. You start to calm down enough that you can think about attending government meetings—or even just _talking_ to Starscream— without panicking. And you don’t have to pretend nothing happened, either. You don’t have to play coy little flirting games to dance around what’s going on between you and him. It might be difficult, or awkward, but the two of you can talk through what happened and where it went wrong like two responsible mechs.

Eventually, you manage to lose yourself in the work so much that you’re halfway through folding a little jet before you even realize what you’re making. It’s obviously not Starscream, the wings are all wrong, but it’s enough to make you laugh a little.

After that, you feel ready to go back home. It’s late. There’s nobody else in the skies or in the halls, and that’s more than fine with you. You do hesitate outside your apartment door, wondering if you should stop in to see Chromia—But you don’t want to wake her if she’s resting. You send her a short comm letting her know that you’re back and feeling less awful, and just get a sleepy acknowledgment ping in return. When you check your chronometer, you do have to wince a little. You’re not going to get much recharge tonight.

In the morning, you do feel better. You think. You’re still worried, but there isn’t as much anxiety to it as there was yesterday. And Chromia comes to visit with Camien energon blends that she must have gone into town to buy. You realize belatedly that you completely forgot to fuel last night, but Chromia knows you too well, because she brought you double the energon she brought for herself. She sits with you while you fuel together and talk about all sorts of non-Starscream things, and by the time you’re done, you feel ready to deal with the day.

And it’s a boring day. Not in any remarkable way. Your entire morning is just taken up with a meeting with representatives from Iacon’s industrial sector, discussing the issues they’re running into with the city infrastructure in general, and Metroplex in particular. You aren’t getting any real new information at this point. You have your list of issues that need to be addressed, and you _are_ working on it. But given the scope of everything that needs to be done, progress is… slow. These mechs aren’t telling you anything new and you aren’t telling them anything new, and still, somehow, the meeting takes cycles. Wheeljack is there too, and looks just about as bored as you feel.

The two of you don’t have much of a chance to talk to each other. As soon as the official meeting breaks up, individual mechs descend on each of you to talk about why their particular problems are _much_ more pressing than anyone else’s and is there _anything_ that can be done— You and Wheeljack only manage a few quick comms before you make a break for it. Even once you’re free from that business, you only barely have the time to check in on the progress of the work crews you direct and line up fresh projects for the ones who are close to wrapping up their current jobs. And then you have to rush off to a meeting with the colonial representatives.

And this, well. It’s going to be about as boring as your first meeting. Just cycles of people arguing over trade and legislation and immigration and influence. And you can’t even sit back and let the arguments happen around you, or Caminus will be left behind everyone else. Your colony is already so resource-poor that you have to negotiate as aggressively as possible. It isn’t something you’re particularly good at. Or something you particularly enjoy. But what you care about most right now is that Starscream will be there too.

It’s… an anticlimax. You’re nearly the first mech to the room, and when you walk in, Starscream is already there—But he ignores you completely and just goes on talking to Knock Out. It isn’t even as though they’re talking about anything interesting. You think that mostly they’re just trying to out-brag each other. Starscream barely even _looks_ at you, not even when Knock Out turns around to say hello.

You take your seat, trying to figure out if this is ignoring, or _ignoring-_ ignoring. You don’t even know how you’d tell the difference. Is he doing this just to bother you? Or is he doing it because you messed up _that_ badly, and he’s under no obligation to have anything to do with you ever again? His wings are pristine. There’s no sign of the damage from yesterday. You’re pathetically grateful when Strika arrives and you have an excuse to turn away from watching Starscream.

So you begin the meeting confused. And nothing that happens does anything to clear up the situation. Starscream doesn’t avoid addressing you. But when he talk to you, you can’t tell if things are _different_ at all. Is he being more pleasant than usual? Are you just giving him credit for basic decency because you still feel guilty over yesterday? You can’t tell, you’re second-guessing yourself every time he says a single word to you. What he just said sounded almost like he respected your authority on something—But then while you’re trying to figure out whether that honestly just happened and miss a turn in the conversation, he says something snide and unnecessary about how he’s terribly sorry that this meeting is keeping you from your other duties.

You’re so frustrated by the end of the meeting that you stay behind, right in your seat, as the other delegates drift out of the room. Starscream looks at first like he’s about to go with them. But then you catch his optics, and he slows, then stops.

You say, “I wanted to update you on the progress of that sanitation work you requested.” You rattle off the information you have, plus the latest information about Metroplex’s current self-repair efforts. And meanwhile, you just watch his face.

He’s wary at first. Which isn’t _bad_ , necessarily. You think. You and he should be keeping each other on your toes, on guard—right? Unless you’re reading this wrong. Again. _Anyways_. The point is that as you talk, you see his mouth spread into that familiar, smug smile you know too well.

“Remarkable,” he says. “I hadn’t thought you’d be able to spare resources so soon from your own… pet projects.”

Your spark leaps. You’re fast enough to tell him about the work you have most of your crews doing, and the improvements in Metroplex _because_ of the work you’ve prioritized, including a sharp little reminder about the repairs to his filtration system. And Starscream is right there with you again, because he replies with even _more_ issues that require your immediate attention, and even manages to imply that your work has progressed so well because you’ve finally learned to take guidance from mechs with more knowledge and experience than you.

And then—It’s like you’ve missed a stair in the conversation. He pulls back and cuts it short, and then he’s almost _polite_ when he takes his leave, and goes. You’re left uncertain, off-balance, and alone in the room. For a klik, you fight the urge to comm Wheeljack and demand he tell you everything he knows about how Starscream _works_. You’re sure your motivations will be shamefully obvious. But hasn’t Wheeljack guessed by now? He _must_ have guessed. But it will be so embarrassing, letting him know that you can’t even do this one little thing by yourself. And you’re still not sure how much you can tell him about where things went wrong yesterday.

So instead you comm Chromia and complain at her about Starscream as you head out to Metroplex. She takes your messages in stride, and lets you whine as much as you want, making occasional jokes about how oblivious he must be and about your poor taste in mechs. This is comfortable territory. You’ve both been over this ground before. It isn’t quite the same as it used to be, not with the memory of _yesterday_ still hanging over you. But it’s familiar.

Metroplex’s control room is comfortable and familiar too. Once you check in on his self-repair progress, you can settle in at your desk and work. It’s easier without all of last night’s anxiety suffocating you. Without _most_ of last night’s anxiety. You’re still not quite sure what to think about today. Just because it seemed like things were back to normal for one conversation—Not now. You need to focus. And now you’re able to see some things you can do on your own, little bits and pieces of analysis that should let you get a more cohesive picture of the progress you’ve made here.

Though… the repair work you’ve done is so _reactionary._ There’s no shortage of problems, and some of them are definitely more serious than others. But so much of what you do is prioritized in favor of who complains loudest. If you can figure out which of the smaller repairs will have the widest impact, or even predict who’s about to start having issues… It isn’t actually that hard to write a program to pull together a map of all the problems you’ve had in the city, including parameters like what type of outage it was, whether it took place in Metroplex or just in the city systems he’s interfaced with, how long the problem persisted before being repaired, all available in a time-series plot, overlaid on a map of the city—

While the program mines the data you need, you sit back in your chair to relax. And _maybe_ gloat a little. You’ll have to share this with Wheeljack as soon as you’re sure it worked. He probably would have thought of this sooner, except everyone’s been keeping him running from emergency to emergency ever since the moment he came out of the CR chamber. He’ll probably know how to use this data better than you do. You _suppose_ you ought to share it with Starscream too. But you’ll have to figure out the best way to present it to really drive home that _you’re_ the one who knows what you’re doing, that you’re always two steps ahead of him—

And you really need to stop thinking like that. At least until you know what’s going on between the two of you. It seems like it ought to be so straightforward. And it isn’t just you, Chromia thinks so too. Maybe you really should figure out how much you can say to Wheeljack. But even more than that, you need figure out what went so incredibly wrong last night. You can’t think of any more awkward conversation you could ever possibly have, but if there’s any chance at all that this is going to continue, you need to know what happened so you can be sure it never happens again. If Starscream is even willing to have that conversation.

But now you’re just stressing yourself out over maybes. You can’t push this when you’re upset. Flying off to hunt down Starscream or Wheeljack now is not the right decision. You don’t need to be distracting Wheeljack right this moment when you’re sure he’s already busy. And if Starscream doesn’t want to talk right now, then pinning him down to demand he talk to you anyways is probably the worst thing you could do.

Instead you get out your folded sculptures to work on while your program runs. You pick up where you left off last night. The first little plane you did is sitting there in your desk, and the next few patterns in the files you have are all planes too, all different models that you don’t recognize, but it makes you smile to think that you might be able to match one of these with a mech and give them a personal little gift. The odds aren’t in your favor, since these are all human aircraft and don’t seem to quite match any alt modes you recall from Cybertron or Caminus, but maybe a mech who’s spent time on Earth—

 _Oh_. It’s such a silly idea. Such a silly, frivolous idea, but you can’t resist— You go through all the patterns you have, find all the other planes, and sort them into their own directory. It isn’t many, and none of them look _especially_ like Starscream, not even if you try to improvise on top of the basic pattern concepts. But there might be more patterns out there, maybe something you can modify. And now that you’ve had the idea, you just can’t let it go.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you send Jazz a message asking if perhaps he knows of any more patterns for aircraft he could send your way. And then—you feel like you ought to do something for him in return, but you wouldn’t be able to send him back one of your sculptures, and from what you’ve seen of Earth, you doubt something that fragile would survive for long. So you message Blurr asking what kind of things Jazz likes. Music, he says. And that hasn’t ever been your forte, but _Nautica—_ And by the time you’ve gotten ahold of her to ask if she knows of any good compilations of Camien music you can pass along, Jazz is already sending dozens of files your way.

As you flick through them, some of them are definitely wrong, but _this_ one isn’t too far off, and maybe this is one you can adapt to what you need—

JZ: and may i ask what all this is for?  
WB: Starscream  
JZ: huh  
JZ: tryin to sweeten him up?  
WB: Not quite  
WB: I’m trying to make a sculpture that looks like him  
JZ: gotta say   
JZ: from over here  
JZ: that sure does sound like tryin to sweeten him up  
WB: Coming from me?  
WB: He’ll hate it  
WB: I’m going to get so far under his plating he’ll be feeling me in his spark  
JZ: haha, well THAT is a cause i can get behind  
JZ: sit tight  
JZ: cause i think i can find you exactly what youre lookin for ;)

You don’t know what he means but you’re already excited. Though when you look back at your messages, you have to wince. He’s going to be ‘feeling you in his spark’? How embarrassingly obvious can you get? Fortunately, you aren’t left to linger over that for too long.

JZ: here you go  
JZ: full record of starscream’s alt and root mode frames  
JZ: from the earliest records as a decepticon to present day  
JZ: courtesy of autobot intelligence  
JZ: might be some gaps in there over  
JZ: y’know  
JZ: a four million year stretch  
JZ: but still should be plenty to work with  
WB: Oh!  
WB: Thank you so much!!  
WB: The file is coming through now  
WB: Wait  
WB: HOW large is it?  
JZ: yyyyep  
JZ: that’s starscream for you  
JZ: and   
JZ: the cherry on top  
JZ: ready-made patterns for the two alt modes he was seen test driving on earth  
JZ: just for you ;)

You thank him profusely and pass along all the music Nautica’s sent you. He just laughs it off and asks you to say hello to Blurr and company for him, but you make a private note to keep an optic out for anything nice you can do for him in the future. By the time you wrap that up, you’re itching to try out your new patterns. Those last two that Jazz sent definitely look tricky. But when you see that the second one matches the model you saw in Starscream’s quarters—How are you supposed to do anything else?

It takes you a few false starts to get anywhere with it. On your fifth try, you’re _nearly_ to the end when somehow edges that ought to be lining up just… aren’t. And on your sixth try, you aren’t even sure what goes wrong but it’s not salvageable. Your seventh attempt, well. You _finish_ it, technically. It doesn’t look like something you’d give as a present to anybody, but it’s enough to energize you to push on. By the time you have one that you’re happy with, you guiltily realize that cycles have passed while you were distracted, and you have to rush to finish up all the work you should have been doing. But whenever you look down at the little sculpture, you are _completely_ satisfied with how you spent your time.

Chromia comms you asking if you’re going to miss a meal for the second night in a row, and you’re able to reply that no, you’re just wrapping things up, and would she like to meet up and refuel together? You’re even able to catch Wheeljack over comms when he’s not in the middle of something right that moment. He tries to tell you that he’s still busy and there’s more to be done, you manage to persuade him that yes, he can definitely afford to take a break to _eat_. You tuck your sculpture into a compartment in your frame before you leave. Not with any definite plans, but— just in case.

When the three of you meet up at Maccadam’s, the bar is fairly empty, but Blurr is glad to see you—plus he’s happy to hear from Jazz _and_ happy to complain with you about why doesn’t Jazz just comm Blurr himself? People drift in as you and Chromia and Wheeljack refuel, and once you finish your energon, it’s as easy as anything to move on to the engex.

But Wheeljack only stays for a single drink before he starts making his excuses, saying that he ought to head back to the council building, that he still has things to take care of today. You’re torn for a moment. You do like spending time with everyone, and it feels like you never have the chance to do it these days, but Wheeljack is even busier than you and you only ever see him when you’re working together— Chromia is leaned against the bar, laughing with Slug and Ironhide, and it’s so good to see her finding things to enjoy about living here. You comm her that you’re going back home with Wheeljack, and she turns to wave goodbye before going back to her conversation.

As you follow Wheeljack out the door onto the street, you’re _determined_ to ask him about Starscream. It’s going to happen. And... when you open your mouth, you completely lose your nerve. _Stupid_. Instead of completely fumbling the conversation, you do manage to ask Wheeljack how his life has been going. It’s mostly work, and you feel a little guilty that you introduced the topic at all, but at least the two of you can commiserate about the projects you share. And! It had completely slipped your mind, but you’re able to give him a datapad with the map of outages you put together.

Of course, then you trip over your own feet, because you have to ask him to keep it hidden from Starscream. Not a _secret,_ you aren’t keeping secrets, but just—Not to tell Starscream? Until tomorrow. Just until then. When you’ll tell him first. Because of, ah. Reasons.

You’re ready to implode from sheer embarrassment now. You can’t think of a more graceless way you could have possibly done that. Wheeljack can’t possibly have missed it, but he just gives you an amused sideways look, and _thank Primus_ , agrees to keep it quiet until you’ve had a chance to break the news.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you say, “How has Starscream been?”

You immediately regret it. Can you take it back? Haha, not that you _care_ how Starscream is doing—No, frag, that’s even worse—

Wheeljack just thoughtfully says, “I think he’s getting by.”

And— As long as you’re making a fool of yourself, “You haven’t noticed anything… odd?”

“Why? Have you?”

Yes. Kind of. Maybe? This is the same problem you’ve been _having_ , where you can’t tell how much you ought to share, where you don’t know how much of what happened _is_ unusual, how much can be chalked up to your inexperience, whether you’re missing something painfully obvious that you did wrong.

You don’t manage to edge any closer to the questions you really want to ask. The two of you just end up casually talking about the projects you’re collaborating on with Starscream, and updating each other on how those are going. And you don’t know—You can’t tell whether you’re being paranoid, but nothing Wheeljack says ever comes back to how Starscream is thinking or acting, any of the things you wanted to know. You’re being paranoid. This whole… _thing_ has you on edge so badly that you can’t even have a simple friendly conversation without digging for secrets and hidden motives. Ha, maybe _that’s_ your insight into how Starscream thinks.

You and Wheeljack eventually have to part ways, and he waves goodbye as he ambles down the hall towards his office. And you realize that in the end, the two of you didn’t really talk about anything but your work. Again. Even when you’re trying to have a normal conversation, everything always comes back to _work._

At first, you head towards the diplomats’ wing. Then you head away from the diplomats’ wing. And perhaps you spend a while just kind of. Wandering through the halls. In case you meet anyone. Which is a mature thing that you’re sure plenty of mature mechs do. You don’t run into Starscream, but you do meet Knock Out and Breakdown coming back from the city together. When they invite you down to their apartment to share some drinks, you waver for a nanoklik, because _maybe_ you’ll meet Starscream or Wheeljack will finish his work and you can try talking to him again—And then you catch yourself thinking that way, and agree that yes, you’d absolutely like to join them.

And it _is_ a good evening. It’s good to get away from everything. You don’t even talk about _work_ for once, Breakdown has plenty of questions about life on Caminus, and you think Knock Out must still be smarting over the Benefit 500, given how often he brings it up. There’s no real heat to it, though, and Breakdown starts teasing him about it every time he raises the subject. It warms your spark, to sit there with them getting distracted, sniping happily back and forth, with Knock Out leaned up against Breakdown’s side, under his arm. You don’t even know if they realize the way they’re smiling at each other. It’s impossible for you not to smile too, just watching them.

This is the first time you’ve felt like you could sit back and relax ever since you were with Starscream and things—went wrong. You join Breakdown in teasing Knock Out, and he gets to play the poor, put-upon martyr, still smiling and still tucked in close against Breakdown’s side. Once you start laughing it’s impossible to stop, and by the time you finally make your excuses and go back to your own apartments, you feel like you’ve finally, _finally_ managed to get out of your own head. Tomorrow. You’ll find Starscream and have a calm, reasonable conversation with him tomorrow.

Well, tomorrow is when you wake up to an alert from Metroplex that something has gone wrong with his self-repair. What has gone wrong? Well, that would be useful information, so of course you don’t have it. You stay just long enough to stop in Chromia’s apartment and tell her where you’re going—as you turn to leave, she stops you to press an energon cube into your hands—and then you head straight outside and take to the air. Mentally, you’re already running through the list of your work crews, seeing which are working the least-critical jobs and which you can spare soonest.

Your first stop in Metroplex’s control room. He doesn’t have much more information than what he sent you, but you’re able to isolate the problem to a single sector, one of the furthest from this central hub. Realistically, you know this is probably nothing malicious, but there’s a significant part of you that can’t stop fretting about _sabotage_. Once the problem is taken care of, you’re going to personally monitor Metroplex’s self-repair, just to be certain there aren’t any more issues. You collect datapads for the work you can do away from your console, which is frustratingly little. So you grab a small stack of metal sheets to bring with you too.

When you fly out to the site and touch down, the problem is obvious enough. In an unremarkable back corridor, there’s a hole in Metroplex’s wall. And not only that, but the space has been stuffed full of garbage and other debris. And it looks like someone has tried to patch into Metroplex’s electrical systems. _Why._ If people would only cooperate while you got Metroplex functional again, he’d be _providing_ them with electricity, clean and simple. You’d wager that the outages here started when some mech decided to try stealing the power you want to provide for free.

At least it’s an easy repair. You only need to call in a small work crew, then you go ahead and start moving debris from Metroplex’s wall while you wait for them. Once they’ve cleared the junk and patched the wall, you clear them to go back to their scheduled work, but you settle in to monitor Metroplex’s self-repairs on the electronic systems, just to be sure nothing else goes wrong. You sit down and prop up a datapad in front of you displaying the self-repair status—which looks like it’s going well so far—and get out your other datapads to try to get some work done.

And you get as little done as you thought you would. It’s so _frustrating_ , when there’s so much that needs to be taken care of, but it seems like every project needs you to collaborate with ten other mechs, and coordinating with everyone else is _never_ easy and _never_ efficient. The self-repair is still moving along. It was close to finished before this problem came up and it’s close to finished now. But everything about this repair work is painfully slow. Which is understandable, for a frame the size of a city, but it doesn’t make this any easier to handle. It’s much simpler to maintain a Titan than it is to repair a Titan, and you don’t think you ever appreciated that when you were training to be a cityspeaker.

So for about a cycle, you sit and fold little metal sculptures. It’s a waste of time, it _is_ , but you refuse to feel guilty over it. You focus on the other pattern Jazz sent you that matches Starscream’s old alt mode. This one is difficult too, but it feels like it takes less time for you to stop making stupid mistakes. Perhaps you’re beginning to get a little better at this. The idea of figuring out how to make something as complicated as Starscream’s frame on your own is—no. But you are at least able to follow a pattern.

When you get a sculpture you’re happy with, the repairs are just _kliks_ from being done, and you try not to get too impatient. Just a little longer. You put the sculpture down beside you while you get out a datapad to review the agenda for the next scheduled judiciary meeting. So rather than trying not to fidget, you do your best not to fall into recharge right there on the floor. But when you look down at the sculpture, the metal picks up the red of your legs, and you let yourself feel tentatively _proud_ of how much it looks like Starscream.

After the repairs are finally finished, you collect all your things, get up, and stretch your legs walking to the nearest junction with open sky. It feels good to get in the air again, and by the time you land you’re already trying to brainstorm ways to avoid this kind of problem in the future. Perhaps some kind of mild incentive for citizens to report it if they spot disturbed parts of Metroplex’s frame? But this wasn’t all that obvious if you weren’t looking for it, and there might be a risk of mechs _causing_ these problems just to report them and collect the reward. Hm.

When you land, you sit down, set your datapads and newest sculpture in front of you, and bring up the list of your assigned work crews. What if some of them went walking the alleys and hallways in Metroplex looking for issues instead of other citizens? They already collect their pay for doing repair work and this wouldn’t be much different—though of course there’s more than enough work to go around for a long while yet. But—Your work crews were restricted by the mechs who could do skilled repair work. Just finding and flagging these problems could be done by anyone. If there’s any money to spare, you should see about hiring more mechs, and then it might look like the government is at least trying to do something about the unemployment issues in the city. Maybe Starscream will listen if Wheeljack proposes it instead of you—

And right on cue, you hear footsteps. You jump guiltily— _why,_ it isn’t even as though you’ve done something wrong, you’re _working—_ and try to look productive. More productive than you were already being. You only remember the sculpture is still sitting on your desk at the very last moment and barely manage to sweep it into a drawer before Starscream turns into the room.

You’ve been trying so hard to prepare yourself to have this conversation with him… and it all goes right out of your head. Fortunately, he isn’t waiting on _you_ to say anything, and the moment he catches your optics he starts demanding to know why the self-repairs you initiated, the repairs _he_ ordered, aren’t completed yet.

Familiar territory. Smoothly, you say, “We are only at the low end of the predicted time range for these repairs. As I’ve said in the past, the estimated times for self-repair are only _estimates_ , and these predictions are less precise than they might be, given the amount of damage Metroplex has taken. Repairs in one site were delayed by obstructions—I personally oversaw their removal—and only two other sites are still incomplete. Those repairs are at ninety-eight percent, and should be finished within two cycles.” All that without even having to look down at your datapad. And then you can’t resist adding, “Given the recent improvements in fuel efficiency, I think we can expect self-repair to consistently move this quickly in the future.”

His wings stiffen, and he takes a half step towards you before he stops himself. His fist is clenched. You shouldn’t—You ought to have that conversation, the one you _really, really need to have_ , but you can’t resist trying to find some way to provoke him that smallest bit more. _Oh—_

“I also developed this map,” you tell him, and hand him the relevant datapad. “It should allow us to track time trends, types of outages, and repair times—including delays in getting to the repairs, time to repair, and delays during the repairs to acquire necessary tools or supplies. All dating back to when Metroplex arrived, across his entire frame.”

“What about—”

“ _And_ the surrounding city.” You can see his optics going wide as he looks through your results. “Really, it’s terribly simple,” you add. “I can’t believe you never thought of it before.”

His head snaps up, and you smile as sweetly as you know how.

Like last time, _he’s_ the one to make the first real move towards you. You stay right where you are in your chair, and he’s the one to close the distance, looming over you, his hands braced on the arms of your chair. Maybe you ought to feel trapped, but instead you just feel like you’ve _won_.

But this time, he doesn’t kiss you. He’s so close, _so close_ , but he just holds himself there right above you, his face furious and his optics locked with yours. After a long, silent nanoklik, you reach up and put one gentle finger under his chin and guide him down towards you. You’re still smiling right up until the moment when his mouth meets yours.

This kiss is slow and measured, none of the frenzy of before. The urgency builds slowly. As Starscream leans more and more of his weight into you, your chair creaks ominously, and you hope he _does_ break it, because you’ll laugh at him forever. He moves one hand, but only to drop it to rest against your side. He runs it slowly up your plating, and when he pinches the base of your wing, you can’t help jumping.

Your hand shifts to cup the side of his helmet, and you wonder if you should do more, because, because you _want_ to, but you still don’t know what went wrong before, and you’re afraid to break the spell. This close, his wings block out the rest of the room, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his hand on your frame and the hot air his vents are blowing against you. He digs his fingers into the joints of your wings, and you jerk against him. You can feel how he smirks against your mouth, and bite his lip. He keeps teasing at your wings, and it feels so good that you can’t _not_ respond.

So you reach up with your free hand, and run one very careful finger down the trailing edge of Starscream’s wing. You can feel his wing flutter under your hand and hear the way his fans kick up. You retrace the same path, and his hand clenches against your back and he pulls you up against his chest.

And then—he stops. His hand falls away from you. He pulls away. Steps back.

You let him go. What else are you supposed to do? You’re—numb. Watching him go. What happened? What did you do wrong? Is it something that’s wrong with _you?_

You look down at your lap and run a slow vent cycle. “We need to talk,” you tell him.

A pause. “About what?”

“About all _this,”_ you snap. “What’s going on? Why— I can’t read your mind, you need to _tell me_ if something’s the matter!”

Another long pause. You look up at him, but you can’t read his expression. Finally, he says, “I don’t know what you could mean.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

He just smirks at that, and you have to hold yourself back from going for him. _Not now._

One more slow vent cycle. You say, “Whatever’s happening between us—”

“Between us?”

“— _Starscream_. Whatever made things go— the way they did last time. Whatever it was that went wrong, I need to _know.”_

He crosses his arms. His face is empty.

“What did I do wrong?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“In, in your quarters, it was _two days ago_ , you can’t expect me to—”

“I don’t recall anything of the sort.” He turns and begins to walk away. “When you’re ready to talk sense again, I’m sure there are plenty of important matters we can discuss. Until then—”

You do lunge to your feet and go after him, but you stop before you actually grab him by the arm. He slowly turns to face you, and this, this is that dangerous silence again, where everything is falling to pieces and you don’t know _why_ and you can’t think of any explanation except that you must have done something _wrong_. You’re so frustrated you could scream, but you’re even more afraid that if you do _anything_ , you’ll break things beyond fixing.

If things aren’t already at that point, of course. You don’t know what to _do_.

You spin, go back to your desk, yank open the drawer and pull out the little folded sculpture you just finished. You cross the floor back to Starscream, and he’s just _watching_ you, he isn’t moving, isn’t reacting, _nothing_. You grab his arm, and before he can pull away, you shove the sculpture into his hand. _Gently_. You’re angry, you’re confused, and you’re upset, but you still don’t think you could bear to damage it.

And then, before Starscream can leave, _you’re leaving_ _first_.

You’re almost to the window when he says, “What is—?”

He’s holding out the sculpture. You give him the most scathing look you can manage. “It’s _y_ _ou_ , obviously.”

It feels good to be in the air. Or at least. Better. For a moment, you think Starscream is going to follow you, but when you loop back, he’s just standing at the window, watching. You turn towards the council building. Chromia is your first thought—And she’d be happy to listen, you know she would, but she can’t give you the answers you need.

WB: Wheeljack  
WB: Are you free?  
WJ: hmm  
WJ: i could get free  
WB: Please  
WJ: guess i can spare some time  
WB: Where are you?  
WJ: office  
WJ: whats up?  
WB: Complicated  
WB: I’m almost there

You’re so distracted that you stumble and nearly fall when you land and transform back to your feet. You don’t _run_ through the halls, but you rush past everyone you see without a single word. Part of it is that you don’t know what you’d even say. But part of it is that you don’t want anyone _looking_ at you right now.

Technically, you do knock on Wheeljack’s door. But you feel so exposed in the hallway, and what if someone walks by, what if someone _sees—_ so you knock all of once before you just open the door on your own. Wheeljack is only halfway to his feet and the door is already sliding closed behind you as he says, “...come in.”

And then he gets a good look at your face. “Windblade? What’s the matter?”

Calm, you tell yourself. Calm and collected and reasonable— And that all goes out the window as you wail, _“What’s wrong with Starscream?”_

And _Wheeljack_ doesn’t pretend he has no idea what you’re talking about. Unlike _some_ people. Thank Primus. He does hesitate. He finishes standing, then steps slowly around his desk until there isn’t anything between you and him. You hear him sigh. “I don’t rightly know how to answer that.”

“But he—”

Wheeljack holds up his hands. “I understand, trust me. Just don’t think it’s my place to be spreading rumors about a mech’s private business behind his back.”

You can feel your face starting to crumple. _No._ Control yourself. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I—”

“Is it something I did? Is there something the matter with _me?_ ”

“No, that’s not—”

“I don’t know if it’s because, because I’m not— because I don’t have the experience to know if I’m doing something wrong, and everyone can see it but me, and—” You’re losing it. Slow ventilation. Hold it together. “I’m not saying it’s this serious, I’m—I’m not sure this is even a _thing_ between us anymore. Or is Cybertron just so different from Caminus— Wheeljack, doesn’t Cybertron _have_ aemula endurae?”

You force yourself to stop talking. You think you’ve humiliated yourself enough for one day. All you can do is helplessly watch Wheeljack, waiting for an answer or, or _something_.

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He’s looking off away from you into a corner of the room. “Right. Yeah, I shoulda… Well, without digging into any one mech’s personal business—” And then he stops, looks at you and holds out his hands. “Hey, c’mere.”

It’s such a relief to step forward and just let him hold you. You wrap your arms tight around his waist and even bury your face in his shoulder for a nanoklik, but when you finally step back, he just leans back against his desk and keeps holding out one arm out for you. You must be reading this wrong, but—Instead of talking yourself out of it, you move to him again, settling yourself against the desk, tucked against his side. And after a moment’s hesitation, you put one of your arms back around his waist.

Wheeljack’s head tips back, until he’s looking up at the ceiling. “Without digging into any one mech’s personal business… that’s still a complicated question. Let me feel this out as I go, never thought I’d have to explain to someone who didn’t live it. The short answer is that with the war, well— Let’s just say that I haven’t seen a set of functioning aemula endurae in a couple million years.”

You stiffen. “But—You have conjunx endurae and amica endurae. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But think about it. What’s having an aemula endura all about? Rivalry, competition, pushing back against each other. Maybe a shorter war wouldn’t’a been a problem. Hard to explain to someone who wasn’t _there_ , but after a while, wasn’t anything to life _but_ the war. For a conjunx or amica, sure, it’s easy to start feeling things for someone on the same side as you. But if you’re looking for that rivalry, it’s awful easy to look at the bot that’s trying to kill you, and by then you’re all numb to the idea of _death_ or _dying_ , and your thoughts go off in a different direction altogether.”

He looks over at you, but you’re just frozen, watching him. You don’t understand—But also you don’t _want_ to understand, you don’t want to truly comprehend what he’s talking about. The war is horrifying enough, just in the archives, just in what you can see in the present. You don’t want to think about what it’s like to have it erase a part of you—

Wheeljack says, “Was a bot I knew, about a thousand years or so into the war. I mean, I say I _knew_ , but— Anyways. We were fighting a couple star systems over. My division was stuck down on this one moon with a squad of Decepticons. Wasn’t anything special about it, ‘cept if we’d tried to leave, they’d be free to pick us off, and if they left, we would’ve done the same.

“And they had this one bot—Brilliant. He was a brilliant weapons engineer. But it was the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen—all he’d design was handheld energy weapons. That’s it. Give him a shield and a couple cycles and he’d figure out a way to get past it. But he never did anything else, far as I could tell. So I was left spending all my time coming up with new defenses for his weapons. I shoulda been figuring out how to get us out of there, but I barely had time to recharge, I was so busy keeping up with this one mech.” He shakes his head. “All that potential, and nothing but handheld energy weapons. Still can’t believe it.”

You know there can’t be any good ending to this story, but you have to ask. “What happened?”

“Thought maybe if I could talk to him, face to face, I might’ve been able to convince him to give Autobot life a try. But soon as I suggested that to my commander, he knew what was up, knew I could be a security risk. He called in reinforcements, came up with some nothing assignment for me to take care of in the lab. Moment I was in there, turns out those reinforcements were an infiltration unit. They snuck into the Decepticon outpost and took out that engineer. Once he was gone, we overran them in just a few days. Never even knew his name. Tried to look him up later, but seems like he was an MTO, and those records are awful spotty.”

Your arm tightens around Wheeljack’s waist, holding him against you. “I’m so sorry—”

He shrugs. “Not that big a deal. I came out of it fine. One friend I had—He did manage to make a connection. The two of them were real sweet on each other, and they’d sneak out for visits together. Until high command found out, used Torque as bait, caught the guy he was seeing, and tortured the Decepticon access codes out of him. I was part of that raid. Just a slaughter. Not too proud of it. And Torque didn’t last too long after that.”

You don’t have any idea what to say to that. To _any_ of this. You turn your face into Wheeljack’s chestplate, and he pats your shoulder.

Eventually, you say, “Millions of years without aemula endurae?”

“Mostly. Once in a while you see that kinda spark. But people don’t want to go near it anymore. One mech will request a transfer, or their friends will get in the way until it dies down. Even within factions. Maybe it’s the war bleeding through, but I can’t remember the last time I saw things go well. I saw maybe… three pairs try to make it work in the last three million years, and they all ended ugly, the kind of ugly you hope you’ll never see in a relationship.”

“So Starscream—?”

He hesitates. “That’s leaning towards that personal business I’m trying to avoid.”

“Yes, but—” You pause, trying to collect your thoughts. “I wasn’t in the war. The war is _over._ He doesn’t have to—”

Wheeljack shrugs. “Hard to forget all the history that got us to this point.”

There are a few nanokliks of silence while you try to process everything. Your head is spinning, just trying to _understand_. Being used to capture your aemula, and knowing they were being tortured and killed— You shy away from the thought. How are you supposed to handle this?

Wheeljack gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I take it Caminus still does just fine with aemula endurae?”

“Yes,” you say distantly. “Yes—Not as many as amica endurae, but it's about as common as conjunx endurae. I used to get the most embarrassing, inappropriate feelings about the Mistress of Flame—”

And that’s when the office door opens and Starscream bursts in.

He gets as far as, “Wheeljack, she—” before he sees you and freezes.

You’re only looking at his face for a nanoklik before you tear your optics away, but you’re hit with a wave of guilt. That was—intimate. Private. You shouldn’t have seen that.

His hand is cupped carefully around your folded sculpture.

“Hey, Starscream,” Wheeljack says easily, as if, as if none of _this_ is happening.

There’s a long awkward pause, and you drag your optics back up to Starscream’s face. “Oh,” he sneers. “I hadn’t realized the two of you were… _occupied_.”

Your plating burns. You almost, _almost_ go for him. But then you feel Wheeljack’s arm still around your shoulder. So instead, you just lean even harder into his side and wrap your arm even more tightly around his waist.

Wheeljack gives you an amused sideways look, and he, he must know what you’re doing, you aren’t being subtle at all, this is just what Starscream _does_ to you. Starscream is already drawing himself up, his wings high and his face outraged, but Wheeljack just reaches out his other hand to him and says, “Come on, don’t be like that.”

And you would _never_ have expected to see this, but Starscream just… steps forward and takes Wheeljack’s hand. His optics are on you, though. When you see him watching you, you look deliberately down to where he’s holding your sculpture, then back to his face. He stiffens, and you shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially not after that conversation, but the only thing you want in life is to prod him that little bit more. And _oh_ , you just remembered—

You retrieve the other sculpture from your frame, the one that matches the model in his quarters. You see Starscream’s optics flare bright, and his head whips around towards Wheeljack.

He bursts out, _“She—”_ before he cuts himself off. His optics stay on Wheeljack, and the silence stretches out. Comms, you expect. You try not to feel too excluded. But you don’t miss the way that Starscream’s hand cups the first sculpture even closer against his frame.

You might not be able to follow what they’re saying, but you can feel it when Wheeljack’s frame begins to shake with quiet laughter. Before you can feel too jealous, he drops Starscream’s hand to reach for your sculpture.

“May I?”

You pass it over to him without hesitation. He’s even more gentle with it than you were, tilting it back and forth and turning it to see all the detail.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says. You look over at Starscream, but he doesn’t disagree, and you let yourself preen.

“It’s a human craft,” you tell him. “I left most of my own supplies on Caminus, so I haven’t been able to paint or sculpt, never mind casting—But this has been a wonderful way to pass the time.”

When Wheeljack hands the folded sculpture over to Starscream, he takes it without thinking. And then he’s left cradling the two sculptures, one in each hand. You smirk. Is he going to pretend that he doesn’t want them? Or will he give in and admit that he’s impressed by your work? He’s caught in a trap and he knows it.

At first, he’s glaring at you with all the heat you could want, but then he wavers, then looks away from you, back to Wheeljack. They lock optics, and there’s more silence. Comms. You bite back your disappointment.

Wheeljack gives your shoulder a soothing pat. Out loud, he says, “No real reason not to.” A pause. “I’m here.” Another pause. “And staying.”

Starscream looks helplessly between the two of you. You can’t tell if his expression is more angry or _wanting_.

After a moment, Wheeljack adds, “Would you like—?”

Like what? You can’t even pretend you’re not curious, but Wheeljack doesn’t say anything more. He reaches out with his free hand and runs his fingers down the side of Starscream’s cockpit. His fingers stop at a little unassuming spot beneath Starscream’s vents, and he traces a small circle on his frame. Starscream shivers, and you can’t look away.

You might not be able to follow what he’s saying, but you can see the moment Starscream gives in.

 _A_ _nd_ you get to see him swallow his pride and turn to place your sculptures very, very gently on a side table. He’s glaring at you again when he turns around, daring you to say anything. But you don’t need to say anything, you already know you’ve won.

Wheeljack takes his arm from around you to reach out to Starscream, and you take a step away, trying not to feel too left out. You hadn’t known that they, they _had_ something, but it’s obvious they do, and you’re the mech intruding on them. Starscream steps up to Wheeljack, and Wheeljack’s hand drifts down to that little spot beneath Starscream’s vents, and _oh—_

That’s his port. That’s his _cable._ They wouldn’t do this here—Would they? You must be mistaken— But Starscream is drawing out Wheeljack’s cable too, and right here, _right in front of you,_ you watch them make the hardline connection.

You’re ashamed at how you can’t turn away. You shouldn’t be watching this. This is private, this is _intimate_. You’re intruding. Starscream steps up into Wheeljack’s arms without a moment’s hesitation, and you’ve never seen him this much at ease. You edge further away. You shouldn’t be here. You should just— You ought to leave.

Before you can get too far, Wheeljack reaches out and catches your hand. Both of them turn their heads towards you. Starscream is draped over Wheeljack’s chest, but he isn’t looking at you like he wants you gone. When Wheeljack pulls you gently forward, Starscream stands, taking his own weight. Wheeljack hops up to sit the edge of the desk, and Starscream steps past you—bumping your wings with his as he goes, _was that really necessary—_ to join him.

Starscream’s arm is around Wheeljack’s waist and his head is leaned up against Wheeljack’s shoulder. You catch yourself hoping— _wondering_ whether he’s always so tactile. You never would have guessed.

Wheeljack nudges you over towards him and says, “Go on.”

You hesitate. But Starscream hesitates too. And the thought of finding your footing before he does is enough to spur you into action. You step up to him, trying to move with confidence you don’t feel. He straightens, cautiously watching you. You pause standing between his legs, one hand resting lightly on each of his knees. What now? You’re not going to drag him down to you, and you’re _absolutely_ _not_ going to try climbing up to him.

The two of you are only frozen like that for a nanoklik until Wheeljack gives Starscream his own nudge. Starscream shoots him an annoyed look, but you think you catch a flicker of a _smile_ on his face. You’re so shocked that you’re slow to respond when he bends down towards you, and his face slides right into that infuriating smirk you know so well.

Starscream stops just far enough away that you have to stretch up to meet him. Your fingertips are barely resting on his legs as you lean to him. Your lips only brush against his at first, until he leans just that little bit further and presses his mouth to yours. You’re moving as slow and careful as you can, because, because you want this, of course you do, but after what happened before—you don’t know what you’re allowed to do, you aren’t sure—

At least this could almost seem like you’re moving slow to tease, not that you’re afraid of what will happen if you do anything more. But Starscream seems to take it as teasing, because after a few light kisses, he makes an impatient noise and leans further into you. His mouth opens against yours, and you imitate him before you can talk yourself out of it.

When you’re taking it so slowly, it’s impossible to ignore the heat of the kiss, the way his glossa moves against yours, the way his head tilts to the side when he shifts with you. The only points of contact are your fingertips, only barely resting against his legs, and your mouth on his. It’s easier now, your mind can’t race in circles when instead you can focus on _this_ , the feeling of him, the way he responds to you, how close he is and the how he presses even closer.

You tease again, on purpose this time. You lean back, drifting from the kiss. Starscream starts to follow you forward before he realizes what you’re doing. You’re ready for him to jerk away, to glare at you. But he wriggles his arm free from where it was behind Wheeljack and reaches for you. You try not to shiver at the feeling of his hands against your frame.

One of his hands rests against your waist, applying gentle pressure, nudging you forward. You ignore it. His _other_ hand slides behind your neck, tugging you back towards him. You brace against his legs, resisting just long enough for him to pull more sharply—and just as your mouth is about to meet his, you turn your head. You feel teeth and glossa against your cheek. Immature, yes, but _entirely_ worth it. You smile at Wheeljack, and he chuckles, leaning into Starscream’s shoulder, but reaching out to run a hand up your arm.

Starscream is pulling back, and when you look up at him, his face is beautifully offended. But he’s moving away, and you don’t want that. You brace on his legs again, this time stretching up to chase his mouth. He tries to pull the same game you did, leaning back away from you. That lasts until you sling an arm around his neck and shamelessly let all your weight come to bear.

You don’t think he actually minds that much, if his fans are any indication. He sulks, because he wouldn’t be _Starscream_ if he didn’t. But after a moment he leans back into the kiss. The two of you are pressed closer now, your chest against his. Your arm is still around his neck, even though you aren’t dragging him down to you anymore, and one of his hands comes to rest against the small of your back. His other hand—

His first touches on your wings are gentle, feeling out your leading edge and teasing at the edges of your plates. It’s just light enough that you shift impatiently, chasing that contact without being willing to pull away from the kiss. And then he pinches the edge of your turbine, and you can’t help gasping against his mouth and arching up against him. You didn’t mean to give so much away, but it’s intense and _perfect_ and you can feel your fans notching faster.

And he doesn’t give you a chance to recover. His one hand against your back holds you steady against his chest while he maps out your turbine with the other, digging his fingers into the edges of your plates and pressing them into your fan. You, you _should_ be able to think past this, you should, but after the slow, careful start, it’s so much _—_

He’s smirking over this, you know he is, and you have to do something, _anything_ to get him back. The only thing you can think of is to go for _his_ wings, see how he likes this. You slip both arms around him, reaching up past his waist, feeling for the spot where his wings meet his back plating. He jerks forward against you and you hear his fans stutter. You kiss him again, hard, letting your hands drift out over his wings, feeling for the edges of his flaps.

And this is going wrong. Something is wrong. You can’t tell _what—_ Starscream is still kissing you, his hands are still on your frame. But he’s. Slower to respond? You don’t _know_ , you can’t tell what’s different, _you don’t know what you did wrong_.

You’re frozen. You might stop kissing him first, but Starscream is the one to shift away. You’re looking down at his lap because you can’t bring yourself to meet his optics. He takes his hands from you. And he reaches down to grab your arms and pull them from around his waist.

“ _No,”_ he says.

And he—doesn’t push you away. He settles your hands onto his legs before he releases your arms. And that’s it. From the corner of your optic, you see Wheeljack putting an arm around Starscream’s back. But at the same time, Wheeljack puts his other hand back on your arm. His thumb rubs reassuring circlces against your plating.

You force yourself to look up. If this somehow isn’t ruined, you _have_ to try to salvage it.

So you ask, “No _what?”_

And— _augh,_ he just looks off to the side like that somehow counts as an answer. You’re so frustrated you could _scream_.

You press, “No what? You have to tell me—” Slow ventilation. “No kissing? No… flaps?”

Still no response. You, you can’t _do_ this if you’re always on edge, wondering if you’re about to cross some line when he _won’t tell you what it is._

Softly, Wheeljack says, “Try ‘no wings.’”

Starscream’s head whips around and he glares at Wheeljack. But he doesn’t argue.

And—okay. You can handle this. As long as someone will tell you what the limits are, you can work with it.

Starscream still is ignoring you in favor of glaring at Wheeljack, so you nudge his leg. Then nudge it again. And _keep_ nudging until finally he looks down at you. You ask, “No wings?”

You watch his face settle from anger into something more neutral that you can’t quite read. “No wings.”

“None at all? Just now, or always? Tell me what I’m allowed to do.”

“None.” And as you’re trying to adjust to that, lock it into your processor, he adds, _“Wheeljack_ is allowed to touch my wings.”

Your mouth is hanging open, and the smirk that spreads across Starscream’s face may be the most obnoxious thing you’ve ever seen. You manage, _“Why?”_

Starscream turns to Wheeljack and presses a hand to his spark. “She’s questioning my boundaries.”

“No, I—”

“She isn’t letting me establish _any_ limits.”

You stop. You can _tell_ when you’re being baited. But your hands are still balled into fists on top of Starscream’s legs, and you’re sure it’s obvious that you’re fuming. He turns just far enough to glance down at you, smirks even wider _,_ and adds, “Wheeljack, won’t you please touch my wings?”

Your spark flares hot and furious. Wheeljack just chuckles and says, “Play nice, now.”

They tip their foreheads together for just a moment, and you stumble with how, how tenderly Starscream looks at Wheeljack. He lingers just long enough to press a soft kiss to Wheeljack’s faceplate, and you’re still reeling with how _different_ he is when he turns back to face you with the same smug, _awful_ face you know so well.

You do get a chance to find your balance again when Wheeljack runs his hand up Starscream’s back and along one wing, and even if you can’t touch, you wish you could at least _see—_ But you do get to watch Starscream’s optics flicker and see the way he arches into that touch.

After that, what else are you supposed to do but shift up even further between Starscream’s legs, pressing yourself as close against him as you can, feeling the way he moves when Wheeljack touches him. One of your hands is braced on Starscream’s thigh, but you move the other over to rest on Wheeljack’s leg. Watching the two of them is—You’re happy to watch them. But you can’t shake the worry that they’ll forget about you, and, and leave you out or leave you behind.

Wheeljack covers your hand with his, and that contact is reassuring. You try to relax.

It helps when Wheeljack finds something sensitive on Starscream’s wings—you wish you could get even one look—and Starscream’s legs lock tight around your hips and he gasps out loud.

Wheeljack murmurs, “That’s good?”

And you suppose he must be teasing at that one spot, because Starscream thrashes, and grabs at your shoulders. He holds on so tight in makes your plating ache, and you can’t look away from his face.

You need to touch him. You _need_ to. And you really, really shouldn’t be setting yourself up like this after you misstepped earlier, but you can’t help a sarcastic, “Can I assume I’m still allowed to touch your vents?”

He pulls himself upright, even though he can’t quite hide the shiver running across his frame as Wheeljack keeps touching his wings. He sighs heavily and says, “I _suppose_.”

You could engage. Or. You could just go right for his vents and win like that instead. And you don’t waste time with teasing. You remember how sensitive Starscream’s vents were before, and you skip right to the part where you press your fingers into him as deep as they’ll go.

He’s doing his best not to react. His hands are tight on your plating, but he’s holding himself stiff and motionless against you, and you can _tell_ he’s doing it just so he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of knowing you’ve affected him.

So it does slightly undermine his efforts when Wheeljack tells you, “He definitely likes that.”

You get to see Starscream’s mouth drop open with pure outrage, and then there’s nothing you can do but burst out laughing.

Starscream turns towards Wheeljack, but your fingers are still buried in his vents, and you feel him shiver as they shift inside him.

“ _Traitor,”_ says Starscream.

“Guess I was gonna get executed for treason sooner or later,” Wheeljack sighs. And—you must be missing something, because Starscream actually stuffs a hand in his mouth to stifle a laugh.

You just watch them. No matter what you might have expected, you never thought you’d see Starscream like… this. You never thought you’d see him teasing and _smiling_ this way. You’re transfixed, watching Wheeljack flex a flap on Starscream’s wing back and forth while Starscream dims his optics and leans into Wheeljack’s shoulder, all while they talk quietly together.

And you’re a part of this. When you move your hands in Starscream’s vents, you can feel his reaction in his fans and the way he shifts against you, leaning into your touch, his legs still tight around your waist. You can see it on his face, in the way he bites his lip and tries not to react. His hands are still on your shoulders. But you still—You pull one hand from Starscream’s vents so you can rest it on Wheeljack’s leg again. And then that doesn’t feel like quite _enough_ , and you move it to his waist.

He turns to look at you, and his hand runs up your arm, wrist to shoulder, then back down. It’s nothing much, but it’s reassuring, it's what you needed, and you’re quietly grateful.

But more importantly, it gives you an idea. You reach up to Starscream and take his chin, turning him to look down at you. “Starscream. Take your revenge. Betray him right back. What are his weak spots?”

Wheelback pulls back, all mock-horrified. “And here I was thinking you were a _nice_ mech.” He looks over at Starscream. “Don’t you do it.”

Starscream is already shaking with silent laughter. “But I’m so _good_ at betrayal.”

“Enemies on all sides,” Wheeljack sighs. “What happened to you and me? Just gonna throw that away? And to think I trusted you.”

“Poor judgment,” Starscream says. He’s still laughing. “And besides, this is really a specialty of mine. Shouldn’t you be supportive when I want to... express myself?”

Starscream turns back to you. “His windshield.” And he’s _smiling_ at you. Not the smug, triumphant smirk that’s all you usually see, but—a smile between two co-conspirators.

You shake yourself. Something to think about later. Because right now—

When you pull your other hand out of Starscream’s vents, he shivers and his hands clench on your shoulders. You rest that hand on his waist and reach out to Wheeljack with the other. Wheeljack and Starscream are both motionless, just, just watching you as you tentatively run a finger along the edge of Wheeljack’s windshield.

First you trace the open edge, then move to the join between plating and glass. You press harder there, and Wheeljack shifts into your touch. His hand comes up to sit on your hip, solid and reassuring. For a moment he glances over at Starscream and you see his other arm move behind Starscream’s back. Whatever he does, Starscream jerks and bites his lip before he gets himself back under control, but his optics never move from your hand on Wheeljack.

When you reach the open edge of Wheeljack’s windshield again, you’re daring enough to slip your hand _inside_ , feel out the inner surface of the glass. He makes a quiet little noise and his hand goes tight on your waist for a moment before it relaxes. His thumb brushes over your plating in soft little circles. Starscream’s drops one hand from your shoulder to turn towards Wheeljack, but his other hand is just—resting there, right against your collar faring, his fingers cupped loosely around your neck. He still hasn’t looked away from your hand on Wheeljack.

Your hand stays in Wheeljack, just finding all the sensitive little seams between the plates under his chest. Watching him is a different kind of fascinating than watching Starscream. It’s still the same game, seeing what sorts of reactions you can tease out of him. But this isn’t about provoking him, or seeing how hard you can push or how you can get under his plating. It’s quieter and softer, just slowly mapping out his frame with your fingertips, seeing what touches get what responses. After a klik, his hand slides up your side, and he begins caressing the base of your wings.

Watching Wheeljack is fascinating. And losing yourself in what he’s doing to your wings is wonderful too. But what ultimately seizes your attention is watching _Starscream_ watching you touch Wheeljack. It’s that same, that same quiet intimacy you saw between them earlier, but now you’re _involved_ in it, you’re in the middle of this even if you aren’t exactly a part of it. Starscream looks back and forth between Wheeljack’s face and your fingers in Wheeljack’s frame, and his hand is still so shockingly gentle against your neck.

And after a while, you have to touch him too. His fans are still pouring out hot air against you and you can’t stop being aware of the pressure of his legs around your hips. Or that hand on your neck. You catch yourself tilting your head into that contact, and can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. And you don’t want to stop touching Wheeljack, but surely you can manage both—

Starscream doesn’t notice when you take your hand from his waist. All his attention is on Wheeljack. But when you slide your fingers back into his vents, that gets you a shocked, _“Ahh—“_

“Do that again,” Wheeljack tells you.

When you flex your fingers, Starscream thrashes. His hips jerk against yours. You can’t look away.

Wheeljack takes his hand from your waist and reaches up to cup Starscream’s cheek. Gently, he says, “You like watching? I could feel that—”

Your optics and Starscream’s both go to the hardline cable. Your plating burns, but more than the embarrassment, you want that too, you _need_ it—Later. Another time. Right now, you’re realizing how much your interface array aches, how much they’ve gotten you spun up. You’d be ashamed of yourself, except you can _see_ how affected Starscream is, he must need this too—

“Starscream,” you say. His optics are still on Wheeljack. You reach up to turn his face to you. “Starscream, open your panel.”

You see him open his mouth to agree. You _see_ it. And then he stops, sneers, and says, _“Earn it.”_

Wheeljack says, “For me?” You can hear his fans too, he’s feeling this as much as you and Starscream are. “Open for me?”

Starscream wavers and softens, for just a moment. He glances over at Wheeljack, and for a nanoklik you think you _have_ him. But then he locks optics with you again, and you have to groan at that awful, _stupid,_ self-satisfied smirk.

“ _No.”_

You grit your teeth. Getting a meaningful victory _isn’t the same_ as just depriving yourself out of pure spite, but if you say anything, he wins. _Fine_.

You move your free hand to Starscream’s chest, and just when he braces for you to go after his other vents, you drop your hand to his hip instead. You dig your fingers under his plating, finding all the sensitive little hidden wires, pinching them until he writhes. He starts to slump forward onto you before he catches himself. But that just means that he’s close enough to kiss again.

This time, you _do_ tease on purpose. You kiss him hard, then back away, only giving him glancing kisses until he tries to follow you forward. He _tries._ But you’re holding him back with the hand in his vent. He tries to push past it, and you can watch his face until the sensation is _too much_ , and then he slumps and you can let him fall forward, kiss him, begin the game all over again.

You can see Wheeljack too, both hands on Starscream’s wings. You’re still desperate to _see_ , you’ll have to ask if you can watch sometime—But for the moment, you say, “The, the tips. Go for the tips—”

Starscream snarls and tries to bite you, but it’s half-hearted and only lasts for about a nanoklik before it turns into a deep, desperate kiss. You can see Wheeljack thumbing mercilessly at one wingtip, and you move your thumb over his vent, sliding it down, letting it catch against every step of the grill.

You’re _expecting_ the overload by this point, but it still comes as a shock. You can feel the building tension in Starscream, the way he clutches at your frame and tries to arch back into Wheeljack’s hands. One of his hands drops from your shoulder to hold tight onto Wheeljack’s leg. His head hangs back, his optics dim. He gasps for extra air as his ventilation system strains, but his panel is still closed.

Then suddenly all the tension breaks, in this long shuddering release that you can feel against your frame, all the way down to his legs shaking against you, and you can see in his wings. You’re left speechless, and all you can do is keep touching him and keep _watching._ Your hands are still moving against him, trying to draw this out as long as you can, even just a nanoklik more, so you don’t have to look away. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. He’s _stunning_. You’ve never seen anything like it.

And you realize— Starscream is still shivering weakly against you, his optics back online, watching you—You realize you said at least some of that out loud.

Your one comfort is that at least Starscream looks about as lost and uncertain as you feel. Your fingers are still inside him and his hand still rests on your shoulder. And you’re just. Frozen. Staring at each other.

Wheeljack is more on top of the situation than either of you, _thank Primus_. He reaches over to you, tucking a finger under your chin and turning your head to him. It breaks the spell and you couldn’t be more grateful.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he asks, “You got any issues that need taking care of?”

Your interface array _throbs_. But, but you’re being selfish— “No—I mean yes, but you must need—”

He laughs. “Hey, hey. No need to fret, I think we can both find something to enjoy.”

 _Right_. Of course. Yes. Obviously. Wheeljack catches your hand and draws you over to him, and it takes Starscream a moment to realize he has to move his legs from where they’re still locked around your hips. You’d laugh, but you’re busy realizing how strange it feels to _not_ be between his legs, pressed right up against him.

But you have other things to distract you. Wheeljack still has your hand, and there isn’t any reason for him to have it anymore, but he still lets you hold onto him as you step up and try to find your bearings. Starscream leans against Wheeljack’s side, propping his chin up on his wheel. He still looks a bit dazed, and you privately let yourself feel nice and smug about that. And you remember, before—

When you stretch up to Wheeljack, he bends down readily to meet you, and lets you drop a kiss onto his faceplate, the mirror of the one Starscream gave him earlier. You don’t know if Wheeljack recognizes the parallel, but from the corner of your optic, you can see Starscream shift, his gaze following you.

Wheeljack doesn’t rush anything at all, he takes his time, letting you get comfortable between his legs, letting you collect yourself and find your bearings. Eventually, he asks, “Got anything you’re really looking for?”

And… ah. There goes your ease. You’re tense out to the tips of your wings. You’ve been able to avoid thinking about this, because everything has been instinct and _action_ , not words. And you really, _really_ didn’t want to say anything about this in front of Starscream, but. “...I don’t know.”

They both catch on slowly. Which, remarkably, does not do wonders for your nerves. You think Wheeljack realizes first. And some mechs are understanding. And sensitive. So of course, Starscream is the one to jolt upright, turn to Wheeljack, and burst out with, “She hasn’t—?”

Your plating burns. Yes, thank you, that wasn’t quite obvious or embarrassing enough. Thank you for your help. It’s a little stiff, but you manage, “I’m still not quite three hundred. It isn’t _that_ unusual.”

If anything, Starscream looks even more shocked. And again to _Wheeljack_ , not even to _you_ , he hisses _“Three hundred—“_ He cuts himself off there, but that’s plenty, thank you, you’d like to vanish from existence now.

You think Wheeljack is a bit rattled too. Just better at hiding it than Starscream. You don’t miss the look they exchange, the way Wheeljack slips an arm around Starscream’s back, or the way he presses his leg against Starscream’s. But he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze too, and you’re so pathetically glad that he’s here, and that he’s _him_.

He asks, “Any preferences at all? Anything you think you might especially want?”

You just shake your head, staring off into the corner.

“You’re fine, you’re fine. Hey now—“ He reaches up to cup your cheek, gently turning your head to face him. “We’re at a good height for you to take your spike for a spin if you’d like.”

You nod, but no, you need to do better than that. And, humiliatingly, you immediately stammer. “And—and your—?” Maybe you should have just kept your mouth shut.

“My valve? Sure thing, if you’re up for it. And don’t forget, no’s an answer you can give if I suggest anything you don’t want.”

He’s being so gentle you can’t stand it. You don’t have the words to express how grateful you are. You take a moment to center yourself and reach down for your array. You look up at Wheeljack at the last moment, just, just to be sure. He nods, encouraging, and you take one last ventilation and open your panel.

You make an involuntary, embarrassing noise at how, how _good_ it feels as your spike finally pressurizes. You’ve never—This—It’s all so much more intense when it’s with someone else, you never _knew_. Your hands are shaking, just a little, when you steady yourself against Wheeljack’s chest. Starscream’s optics are intent on you, and his wings keep flicking and resettling. You don’t know what he’s watching for, maybe for you to make a mistake somehow, or—You don’t know.

And Wheeljack is keeping up a stream of quiet, reassuring words that you’re not quite processing. When you’ve steadied yourself a little and manage to smile up at him, he asks, “Doing okay?”

“Yes,” you manage. And you’re rude, you’re overeager, you should know better, but— “Can we—?”

He doesn’t seem like he minds, he just laughs softly and brushes his thumb over your cheek. You’re watching as his panel slides open. You’re right there to see his valve and the soft red biolights surrounding it, and to see the way his spike smoothly pressurizes, with more little biolights studding it. You reach out without thinking, but before you touch you look up at him, just to be certain—

Wheeljack nods. And you touch him. You run your fingers along his spike, base to tip. When you wrap your hand around him, feeling that little bit of give his spike has under your fingers, your own spike aches. You bite your lip. Not yet, but _soon_. Slowly, you stroke his spike, trying to find the balance between how it feels when you do it to yourself and how it feels to do it to another person.

“That’s good,” he says, and you jump, guiltily. You weren’t even doing anything wrong, _why._

But Wheeljack doesn’t poke fun at you, and even Starscream doesn’t say anything snide. When you glance over at him, he’s still just leaned against Wheeljack’s side, watching you with his optics glowing bright.

Wheeljack glances down at your spike and adds, “May I?”

You still don’t quite trust your voice, and just nod. You’re sure Wheeljack and Starscream can hear the way your fans spin up even before Wheeljack touches you. You try not to think that they could be watching your face while you watch Wheeljack’s hand on your spike.

He’s much more at ease than you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t do much to you, but it’s still almost too much. He strokes you gently, but then as his hand moves down your spike, he, he twists his wrist, something you can’t see, but his fingers brush across your node and your knees almost buckle.

“ _Please,”_ bursts out of you before you can stop it. “Please, can I—?”

He spreads his legs even wider for you, murmuring “Shh, don’t worry, you’re fine.”

And this should be the absolute simplest thing, but your hands are shaking enough from sheer nerves that it takes you a nanoklik or two to line your spike up with his valve. You steal one more look at Starscream, but he’s still just looking on quietly, with an expression you can’t quite read. But your plating still heats up with just how closely he’s watching you.

One last ventilation to steel yourself. And then you press forward into Wheeljack. You’re struck speechless for a moment over how _good_ he feels, how hot and tight and perfect, you can’t think, you can’t talk, you can’t ventilate past how intense the sensation is. You dim your optics, just trying to _process._ And you recover, you _do_ , you’re not completely helpless. But it doesn’t hurt that Wheeljack slips his hand around your back to rest soft and soothing at the base of your wings.

“Take your time,” he says. “No rush.”

You take a few nanokliks to adjust. You feel another touch against your waist, and at first you think it's Wheeljack. But you bring your optics back online, Wheeljack’s other hand is still where it was before. The careful hand on your waist is _Starscream_.

You move slowly at first, cautious and tentative. “That’s right,” Wheeljack tells you. “Whatever feels best, I’m easy.”

And it takes less time than you’d been worried it would to find a rhythm. You move against Wheeljack, your hands on his waist, trying to keep your optics online and watch, because you want to see this, you want to see _everything_. It still feels so intense that you’re having trouble thinking past all the sensation, so it takes you a few long moments to process the teasing caresses against the back of your wings. It feels good, but you can’t tell _what_ feels good, until it sends a shiver down your spinal strut, and you recognize Wheeljack’s hands on you.

It’s a struggle, figuring out whether you want to press back into those touches on your wings, or press forward and bury yourself in his valve. So of course, it gets even more complicated when Starscream decides to get involved. He starts light, just tracing his fingers around the edges of your side plates, teasing at the joins, just barely enough pressure for you to feel it. But the more Wheeljack plays with your wings and the more your self-control slips, the harder Starscream teases at your plating. Your attention is all on, on what’s going on with Wheeljack, trying to remember what you’re _doing_ and trying maintain your rhythm. But Wheeljack is digging his fingers carefully into your wing joints, Starscream is watching your face as he strokes the lower edge of your chestplate, there’s so much of everything.

Still, you try to fight past it, because, because you _need_ to be a good partner. They’re doing so much for you, and you need to do at least _something_ for Wheeljack in return. It takes nanokliks to remember how to work your hands. And nanokliks more to actually move one hand from Wheeljack’s chest to his spike. But the pleased noise you get from him makes it more than worthwhile. You can’t quite manage to stroke his spike, every time you start to move, Starscream digs into a sensitive spot, or Wheeljack finds a new joint to tease. But at least you manage to hold Wheeljack’s spike while you move in and out of him.

When Starscream gets tired of playing with your plates and hooks his fingers into your hip joint, you almost lose it. It’s not as as intense as what he was doing to your plating, and he isn’t doing anything much, just letting his fingers sit there. But you look down, and it’s almost like he’s holding you there, like he’s the one pulling you against Wheeljack, like he’s using you to frag Wheeljack himself—

You make a humiliating noise, and just barely manage to hold yourself back from overload. Your vision is spinning, but you do manage to catch a glimpse of Starscream with his first proper smirk since he overloaded. It’s so stupidly smug that you almost want to _not_ overload, just for the sheer spite of it. But that, that isn’t going to happen, you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

“Wheeljack—”

“Hey there,” he says. His hand spreads across your back, broad and reassuring. “Close?”

“ _Please,”_ you say. It comes out much too close to a sob, but you can’t even bring yourself to feel embarrassed.

“You’re fine,” he soothes. “You’re fine. Don’t worry. I’m close too. Any chance you can reach my node from there?”

You want to, you _badly_ want to, you’d do anything to make Wheeljack happy right now. But it’s so hard to think, you don’t remember what nodes are, you don’t remember how to touch them, you feel barely connected to your body, you don’t know how to give him what he wants—

But you can watch distantly as Starscream leans forward, dropping his hand from your hip. You’re still moving against Wheeljack, and you don’t want to think too much about it in case you forget to do that too, but Starscream carefully slips his fingers down between the two of you. You can’t _see_ , with your hand and Wheeljack’s spike in the way. But you can feel the back of Starscream’s fingers against your spike as you move, and you can feel the reaction in Wheeljack. His head snaps back and his hand clenches tight against your wings, and his legs lock around your waist.

And you feel the overload when it hits him. His valve goes even tighter around your spike, clenching down around you, and it’s so much you can’t handle it, barely different from pain, and you, you want nothing else but an overload and you can’t quite tip yourself over that edge and you don’t know what to _do—_

Starscream sighs, and you’re just aware enough to be annoyed at him. But in the very next nanoklik you’re ready to forgive him, because he reaches back around your aft with his other hand, sliding it between your legs. He isn’t in you, but it’s _enough,_ feeling him against your valve, against your node. Your joints all freeze up as the overload takes you, and you’re just standing there, shaking and overwhelmed. You can’t see or hear or move, _anything_ , all you can do is stand between Starscream and Wheeljack and _feel_.

When the last aftershocks fade, Starscream takes his hand from your valve. You only take one little glance at his face, and it’s so unbearably smug you resolve to ignore him as long as possible. You’re sure that will last all of a few nanokliks.

So you turn your attention to Wheeljack instead. He’s already looking perfectly recovered. You try not to be too embarrassed about yourself. Because he looks happy about things have gone, and his arm is still nice and snug around your back, holding you right against his chest, so. You did just fine. You’re already smiling, but you stretch up and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder for a nanoklik before you step back and try to pull yourself together again.

Wheeljack looks over to Starscream, and you follow his gaze before you remember you were supposed to be ignoring Starscream, _frag—_ But then you forget all that, because the look on his _face—_

Wheeljack asks, “You okay?” His arm is still around Starscream, but you see Starscream lean even harder into his side.

Starscream looks dazed. “I—How did—?”

You’re lost, and you think it even takes Wheeljack a moment to figure it out. He chuckles and reaches down to pluck at the hardline connection. “Bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Starscream looks so outraged you have to stifle a laugh. He pushes away from Wheeljack. “But _you_ didn’t—”

Wheeljack shrugs. “You can get used to it with a little practice.”

Your plating heats up at the idea. You want to try it, _immediately._

And then… you don’t know what draws your optics down, but it might be the soft glow of biolights from where Starscream’s panel has opened. You take a half-step towards him before you catch yourself. The glare he gives you is impressive, and you do your best muffle your helpless snickering.

“Might want to take care of that,” Wheeljack says, as helpful as anything. Stop, _stop_ , you’re trying not to laugh—

Starscream keeps glaring at him, even while he slowly opens his legs and lets you step forward between them.

But… oh. You’re just realizing that there’s a little bit of a problem. “Um,” you say. _Eloquent._ When Wheeljack looks at you you gesture down at your array. Or at your _panel_ , because your spike has depressurized and your array is out of commission for the moment. After an overload like that, you’re not sure how soon you’ll be ready to go again.

“It’s all fine,” Wheeljack says. He glances over at Starscream and his voice turns teasing. “You’ve still got two good hands. Think he might have anything he’d like you to do with those?”

On the one hand, you’re trying not to laugh again. You could watch the two of them for _cycles_. But on the other hand… You have two good hands. And you’re tired and still a bit off-balance and dazed. And you’re completely at a loss for what you should to do Starscream. Spike? Valve? Focus on his node? Do _what_ to any of those? Or, or you could go for his vents and wires again, since that was what did it last time? There are so many options, you don’t know where to begin, and you just completely freeze up.

After a moment of silence, Wheeljack adds, “I’d start with his valve.”

Starscream turns to him, and you think he’s going for ‘outraged’, but he’s too tired to muster anything past ‘exasperated.’ “Do you want to tell her everything? Why not just skip the games, tell her everything outright.” He turns back to you, crossing his arms across his chest. “Find me later, I’ll tell you all _his_ secrets. You can publish a treatise.”

Mildly, Wheeljack asks, “Do you want to disconnect?”

Nothing but sullen silence.

You can see Wheeljack reaching for Starscream's wings. And you can see the way Starscream’s body language starts to soften, even if he keeps his arm crossed and refuses to drop the scowl.

So you can’t resist adding, “Go for the edges of his flaps, the ones that are usually hidden inside the wing.”

Starscream throws his hands up in the air. “ _Why do I bother??_ Anything else _you’d_ like to share? Or should I just leave, let you two get nice and cozy together? You can spend the afternoon gossiping about me, I’m sure you’ll _love_ it.”

You won’t lie, all you want to do is prod him just a _little_ further. But Wheeljack is already reaching out for him, and you back down. You’ll have plenty of other opportunities to provoke him. And it’s still fascinating watching Starscream just… surrender into Wheeljack this way.

Wheeljack gets an arm around Starscream’s waist and pulls him in close to his side. He captures both of Starscream’s hands too, though you don’t think Starscream is actually very upset about that part of things. Your optics are locked on the way their fingers tangle together in Starscream’s lap. His panel is still open, his valve and spike are right there, but he and Wheeljack are totally caught up in each other. Wheeljack is saying things that aren’t actually too different from what he was saying to you, asking Starscream if he’s okay, if there’s anything he wants. And Starscream gives him sulky little non-answers, but you watch him relax further and further into Wheeljack until he’s at ease again.

Then Wheeljack looks over at you and says, “I think you’re good to go.”

Deep ventilation. _Valve_ , you tell yourself. Two fingers should be safe, shouldn’t it? You nudge Starscream’s legs just a little further apart. Get yourself lined up. You did fine before and you’ll do fine now.

You make the mistake of glancing up at Starscream, and he takes the opportunity to smirk. “Scared?”

Right, you’re done hesitating. You bury your fingers in his valve without dropping your optics from his.

His hips jerk under your hand and you can hear his fans stutter. So you’re more than happy to stay right where you are and smirk at _him._ While you fill his valve with your fingers. But he doesn’t give you much time to savor the victory. He bends forward, and Wheeljack still has his hands, but now his _mouth_ is within kissing range, and how are you supposed to say no to that?

There isn’t any teasing this time. The kiss starts deep and angry and only escalates from there. He bites you, so you _absolutely_ have to bite him back, but the biting gets lost in the hot press of your mouths, the slide of your glossa on his. His teeth hit yours, and neither of you so much as pauses. His hands are still in Wheeljack’s and one of your hands is occupied, but that still leaves you with one entire hand to reach up and cup his cheek, steadying him against you.

It calms a little of the frenzy. You can still feel his ragged ventilations against your chest and you don’t take your mouth from his, but you can focus a little more on the slide of your fingers inside him, the way you can feel his valve clench around you and the faint hint of a tremor you can feel running through his legs.

Wheeljack murmurs, “He can take more.”

Starscream looks hilariously aggrieved, and it’s all you can do to not burst out laughing, but he doesn’t turn to Wheeljack or argue the point. And you take Wheeljack at his word. You add a third finger to Starscream’s valve, and it’s a little tight, just enough that Starscream’s optics flicker for a moment as he feels the full stretch.

You pull back a little to watch him. The moment he notices what you’re doing, he tries to put on a disaffected sneer, but it doesn’t hold for more than a few nanokliks before his optics flicker again and his mouth drifts open. His hands are still tangled tight with Wheeljack’s. His optics reset and he focuses on you again, tries the same trick. But this time it slips away from you even sooner, and you can see the honest pleasure written all over his face.

You’re transfixed. Because that’s _you_ doing that to him. Your hands, getting that reaction out of him. He tried to lie about how it affected him, and now you’re here, seeing the truth. This time when his optics focus on you, he doesn’t try to pretend this isn’t getting to him. He smirks, but it’s a different smirk, not for a _victory,_ but him daring you to admit how gorgeous he is underneath you, how lucky you are, what a prize he is.

And—you can’t say anything. Maybe at any other time you’d argue. But not here, not now, watching him like this. You _can’t_ look away. Starscream’s optics are fixed on your face and yours are fixed on his. You’re barely touching compared to before, but this feels even more intimate than kissing him.

Softly, fondly, Wheeljack laughs. From the corner of your optic you can see him just watching the two of you. You ought to be embarrassed, or, or something. But all you want to do is see what else you can do to Starscream.

You ask, “What next?”

You can guess. You aren’t _that_ lost. But you want to hear Wheeljack say it out loud, and you want to see Starscream’s face when he does.

“Get a finger on his node,” Wheeljack says. “Do that, and he’ll overload for you.”

Just that, it’s almost enough to finish Starscream. He arches, just for a moment, before he forces himself still and locks optics with you again. His fans are spinning so loud you’re afraid for his bearings. You can see his arms shaking, and how tightly he and Wheeljack are holding each other’s hands. You take your time, letting your hand slide down his neck, over his chest, past his vents and past the little port where his cable is still connected to Wheeljack’s. You pause just before you touch his node and try to lock this image in your memory forever.

It barely takes more than that first touch. When he starts to shake, you stay with him. Your fingers move in and out of his valve, your thumb circling his node. He shakes, he’s shaking from wings to toes, but he doesn’t once drop his optics from yours, and you don’t look away from him either. You don’t openly praise him like before, but you’re awestruck, just watching him. You’re sure it shows on your face and you don’t care. No matter how gorgeous he is on his own, you haven’t seen _anything_ that compares to watching him overload.

When he eventually slumps forward and breaks that optic contact, you take your hands from his array. You pause, still between his knees, with your hands resting on his legs. You don’t want to _go,_ but you’re not sure you’re allowed to stay. Starscream never let go of Wheeljack’s hands, and you can still see the little shakes running all down Starscream’s arms.

Wheeljack is the one to gently pull his hands free. He disengagages their cables, and carefully, slowly, eases Starscream’s cable back into his chest before taking care of his own. That little click as his port cover slides closed seems to rouse Starscream for a moment, but then he just slumps again, leaning further forward. So you catch him.

You’re nervous for a moment, but he seems content to brace himself against your shoulders and stay right where he is. After a nanoklik or two, he lifts his head far enough to focus on you. You’re not sure who moves first, but it’s so easy to lose yourself in kissing him. After Wheeljack takes care of his cable, he doesn’t make any move to step in, he just puts one loose arm around Starscream’s back and watches the two of you.

When Starscream finally pushes back from you, it—it’s technically been a while, but it still _feels_ like too soon. He doesn’t go far, just tips over sideways to lean into Wheeljack. His optics are dim and you can still hear his fans settling down into a quiet hum. You’d feel left out, but his arm is draped over your shoulder, and you can’t decide if you don’t want to move, so you don’t disturb him, or if you want to move _specifically_ so you can disturb him.

What decides you is when Wheeljack reaches out to you too. You give him your hand without thinking, and he tugs you in even closer to the two of them. Starscream’s optics flicker on just long enough to glance at you, and his arm slides away from your shoulder—but just enough so that his hand rests against the side of your neck again. Wheeljack’s hand drifts up your arm, slowly, but it isn’t long before it’s cupped around the other side of your neck. Whenever you shift, you can feel their fingers bump up against each other.

That lasts for a while.

Until Wheeljack cheerfully says, “Ready for that judiciary council meeting in five kliks?”

“We do _not_ have a meeting in five kliks,” you say. You check your chronometer. “We have a meeting in five kliks."

The only thing to make up for it is the look of complete and utter disgust on Starscream’s face. He glares at Wheeljack and snaps, “Why would you even bring that up? You’d rather go to a meeting than—”

“Nope,” Wheeljack corrects. “ _You_ have a meeting. _I_ am not part of the judiciary council.”

You start snickering and you can’t figure out how to stop. Starscream looks between the two of you, hopelessly aggrieved, before he just throws his hands in the air and gives up on you both.

Wheeljack does help the two of you get cleaned up before he sends you out, and Starscream stops sulking the moment you begin getting ready to leave. By the time Wheeljack decides you’re fit for company, you and Starscream have your public faces back on again. If maybe you jostle his wings with yours, and if perhaps he cuts you off as you go out the door—That’s honestly not very different from before. And if you can’t stop smiling to yourself as you walk down the hallways, well. That’s nobody’s business but yours.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit goes to the wonderful [sunderedstar](sunderedstar.tumblr.com)/[oriflamme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oriflamme/pseuds/oriflamme) for coming up with the term aemula endurae!


End file.
